The Days to Come
by AzzyWinchester
Summary: A girl who grew up with a rough life is forced to do things she never wanted to have to do. On top of that she's having to try to figure how to heal and feel normal while trying to survive the walkers that are always around the corner. She has to try to trust, which isn't something she's ever had the luxury of doing.
1. Escaping Hell

When it started, nobody quiet knew what was happening. They said it was a new viral pandemic that had quickly spread worldwide. People were dropping like flies, the hospitals were overflowing with patients that nobody knew how to treat. The world seemed like it was ending, that's basically what the news was saying, anyway. The airports shut down and city's went on lockdown, afraid of spreading it more then it already had. So people that were on vacation or out of town for work were stuck and unable to go home to their families. There was global panic as everyone was trying to get home or lock down there homes to try and keep the sickness out.

But nothing worked, no matter what anybody did. People kept getting sick and they kept dying, but nobody could figure out how to cure it or why it was even happening. They had every possible person on it, but nobody was getting anywhere. But little did they know at the time there was nothing that they could do.

But, honestly? None of that bullshit mattered to me. Life was still the same for me as the world was falling apart. I was still covered in bruises and blood, I was still getting used and taken advantage of. Nothing seemed to change for me as it had for the rest of the world. Not at first at least. It wasn't until right after the government bombed Atlanta that things actually changed in my world.

At the time I lived in a small house in rural Georgia about an hour away from Atlanta with my father and twenty-four year old brother, Andrew. Things with my father were never good, but even though we're seven years apart I used to be really close to my brother. Used to. When he turned sixteen something in him changed. I suppose he got tired of the abuse so he did everything he could to prove to our father that he was worth it, that he was better then he always told him he was. It wasn't long before my father brought him in to work for him to help him deal drugs and bring girls home for him to screw.

After Andrew started working for him things between them changed dramatically. That was good for them, but a living hell for me. Instead of getting his anger out between the both of us, he almost completely aimed it at me, and my brother did nothing to help me. Hell, if he was around he had the tendency to join in.

I know it sounds bad for me to say this, but I enjoyed seeing them being the ones in pain for once. I wasn't heartbroken or angry when the monsters came for us. No, I didn't mind at all. Most people viewed them as monsters that tore families apart, and that's how I would think of them in the future, but in those moments I viewed them as my saviors.

They came at night. In a drunk my brother came stumbling in some time after midnight, leaving the door wide open. He had stumbled up the stairs and passed out on his bed. A couple hours later I woke up to horrifying screams of pain coming from down the hall. I quickly jumped out of my bed and ignoring my better judgement, ran in the direction of the screams. When I got to the door my brother wasn't moving anymore as the monster was ripping his intestines out in a bloody mess as he stuck Andrew's stomach into his mouth with disturbing squishing sounds.

I just stood there paralyzed as I watched the scene before me unfold. It wasn't another moment that my father was beside me and slamming the door shut. He turned to me and gave me the angriest look I'd seen from him in a very long time. I took a step back but he was at me in an instant. He threw me to the ground, hitting my head hard on the wooden floor.

"You left the fucking front door open!" He yelled as he punched my face, making my head snap to the side with a loud smack. I knew better then to talk back so I kept my mouth shut and watched him, waiting for whatever was to come next, wondering if this would be the time he killed me.

He roughly pulled me up by my hair and dragged me to his bedroom, throwing me at his bed before slamming the door shut and locking it behind him. I sat up and looked at him fearfully not sure what was about to happen.

"You think you're goddamned perfect, huh?" He growled, "You think you can get away with murdering your own brother? My only son?" He took a couple steps toward me, "Bitch, you have another thing coming. Nothing I do ever seems to work with you. So I guess it's time to try a different tactic." He wrapped his hand around my neck and squeezed until I could barely breathe, "You're a mother fucking murderer, sweetheart, how's that make you feel, huh? How's it make you feel knowing that you killed Andy?" Tears streamed down my face as I struggled to take a breath.

He let go of my neck, not allowing me to pass out. I curled in on myself and held my neck as I coughed, "Daddy, please." I tried to beg as he undid his belt and pulled it off of his pants. My cries landed on deaf ears, though, as he whipped me with it a few times before throwing it to the ground. I didn't do anything but whimper as I did my best to keep quiet.

He pushed me onto my back and got right in my face, "Everything that's about to happen is your fault. If you could of for once in your miserable life have been a good girl then this wouldn't of had to happen, do you understand? I don't want to have to do this, but you didn't leave me with any other choice."

I breathed frantically as I watched him undo his jeans and pull them down along with his boxers. His pants were around his knees as he got on top of me. He started sucking and licking at my neck as his hands went down to my waistband and fumbled with my buckle. As soon as he touched my pants I started thrashing underneath him. Now I may be above what most people consider to be average height, but I was underweight and still so much smaller then my father. He was a really big man, almost six and a half feet tall and pretty muscular. So I was no match for his strength as he easily overpowered me.

He rubbed his length against my thigh as he undid my buckle and button on my jeans and roughly yanked them down, "Daddy, stop! Please, daddy." I pleaded as I still continued to struggle against him. I couldn't understand why he was doing this to me, especially after what we had just seen. I suppose that it was just even harder proof that he never actually cared about us.

I screamed when he stuck his hand down my panties. He quickly put his other hand over my mouth to silence me, "Do ya wanna get eaten, girl?" He glared down at me before a huge smile broke out onto his face, "Unless you do wanna get eaten." He chuckled, "Yeah, I bet you love getting eaten out, don't you? You're just a slut, aren't you?" He said running a finger down my slit before rubbing me softly.

I wiggled beneath him as he let my face go, "I'm not, daddy, I promise." I couldn't stop my back from arching as he continued his minstrations, I tried to close my legs but he wouldn't let me.

"Bullshit." He growled as he suddenly stuck a finger inside of me. I cried out by the sudden, painful intrusion. I felt like I was going to throw up. This wasn't right, none of it was. I'd never had anybody touch me like this before, it felt so fucking wrong. I wasn't ready for this, I couldn't do it. Tears poured from my eyes and I fisted his shirt as he forced a second finger inside of me. It hurt so fucking bad I knew I had to be bleeding, I don't even want to think about how bad it would hurt for him to put his penis inside of me, "You're such a goddamned whore, yeah, I bet you've gone around and screwed most of the men that come through here to buy from me, huh? You like getting fucked?" He bit down on my neck, drawing blood, before pulling away, "By your daddy?"

"N-no," My voice cracked, "Daddy, please, don't hurt me." He ignored me as he ripped open my plaid shirt and then my bra. He pulled out and started rubbing on my clit again as he sucked my nipple into his mouth. I wiggled beneath him as I felt a strange sensation course through me. Sure, I had touched myself before and thought that I had brought myself to orgasm, but I wasn't so sure after feeling how intense his fingers felt. But I couldn't, I couldn't let him do this.

I didn't want to. I didn't want to, damnit! I shouldn't have to, either. I did my best to look around the room, turning my head from side to side trying to find anything I could grab onto that would help me get out of this situation. That's when my eyes landed on his hunting knife. It was set on his bedside table, it looked like I could reach it. But could I really stab my own father? Did I have the strength to do something like that?

I tightly gripped his arm as I felt my body tensing up. I couldn't wait any long, and I couldn't hold it back much longer, either. So I reached as far as I could and wrapped my fingers around the handle of the knife. I didn't wait another second as I sunk the blade into his back as hard as I could before pulling it back out. He stumbled up onto his feet as he got off me.

"What the fuck did you just do?" He said as he wobbled on his feet. Tears rolled down my face as fire burned inside of me. I lunged forward and stabbed my father in the chest once, then again. He fell to the ground but I didn't stop. I couldn't make myself stop, I don't know if I even wanted to. I was in his lap as I stabbed him again and again and again until my arm hurt then I sunk it into his forehead. I let out all the anger, all the pain, all the hurt and tears in those moments. I just wanted him to feel what he'd made me feel for my entire life. I wanted him to hurt. I wanted him to see me. See me for the monster that he had made me become.

I wanted him to die.


	2. Into the Woods

I sat on my father's bed, covered in blood, just staring at the wall for I don't know how long. I didn't know what to do. I figured with all the shit going on in the world right now I wouldn't get in trouble for what had happened, but I was still just terrified. The tears had stopped falling a while ago and I just felt empty. Had I done the right thing? Should I have acted differently? Should I have just let him do what he wanted? Did I actually deserve what had happened? Did he?

I wasn't sure. But the one thing I did know for sure was that I was a murderer. I might not have killed Andrew like I was accused of, but I had killed my father. I killed my own father. Even after all the shit he had put me through I still couldn't help but feel like what I did was unjustifiable.

I slowly stood up on shaky legs and took a deep breath as I stepped over my father's lifeless form. I stood at the door and listened for a moment to see if I could hear anything in the hallway. I wasn't sure if any more of those monsters had gotten in. But when I didn't hear anything I slowly unlocked the door and carefully opened it as to not make any noise.

I stuck my head out the room and peered down the hall to find it completely empty. The only noise I heard was coming from Andrew's room. There were growls and groans on the other end of the door, but I wasn't too terribly worried about it. I silently tiptoed down the hall and back into my room, letting out a loud sigh as I shut the door.

I could see the dark, drying blood on my hands in the light of the moon. I didn't even think as I grabbed a blanket off my bed and scrubbed at my hands until I was at least slightly satisfied that I had gotten most of it off. I threw the blanket to the ground and walked over to my dresser, opening a drawer and grabbing out a pair of jeans, black shirt, grey plaid shirt and underwear.

I needed to shower. I needed to get the feeling of his hands off of me. I needed to get his blood off of me. I needed to feel clean. But I wasn't so sure I could ever feel clean again. I carefully made my way out of my room and into the dark bathroom. I set my clothes on the toilet's tank then flipped on the light. I was afraid to look at myself in the mirror but I did it anyway.

My blonde hair was a mess, my face was beginning to show off new bruises. I had a bloody bite mark and bruises forming on my neck. My shirt and bra were ripped open and there were a couple of new, red welts from his belt. But what stood out the most was the blood splatter on my face and front, my arms and thighs. I felt a sudden wave of nausea, making me grip the sink and take a few deep breaths.

I couldn't believe I had just done that. I couldn't believe that had just happened. What was I supposed to do now? I was all alone. Nobody was there to tell me what to do, what I should do? It was just me.

The first step was to get clean and get into fresh clothing. I let my shirt fall off of my arms and then I took my bra off. I undid the button on my pants and slid them down, along with my panties. My breath hitched when I saw the blood on them. My blood this time.

I wiped my eyes when I felt tears start to well again as I stepped into the tub and turned on the water. I let the cold water hit me until it got hot. I watched as the water at my feet turned red. I ran my hand over my vagina and hissed from the sting, taking my fingers back and staring at the blood until it washed away. I quickly made work of scrubbing my skin until I saw no more blood, then I grabbed the soap and lathered in all over my body before shampooing my hair. I rinsed it all out and instantly did it again, unsatisfied with the first time.

I'm not sure how long I stood under the water, but when my legs got shaky I turned off the water and wrapped a towel around myself before I sat down on the toilet seat. I took a few deep breaths and got to work getting dressed.

I couldn't stay there. I couldn't. There was no way I would be able to be able to look at anything without reliving everything that had happened. I had to come up with a plan that would keep me alive, at least for now. I had to grab a bag and fill it with necessities like water and food and a couple of weapons. I needed to make sure I was as safe as I could be out there.

With shaky hands I opened the bathroom door and walked out, surveying the hall again to make sure nothing was different. Nothing was. I knew I had to go back to my father's room because that's where the big backpack, guns and knives were.

I didn't want to go back in there, but I didn't feel like I was left with any other options. I couldn't stay here, but I also couldn't leave empty handed. I wasn't left with any other choice as I tentatively walked to the bedroom door and carefully opened it, half expecting my dead father's body to be up and wanting to eat. But no. He was the exact same as when I had left.

I bit down on my lip as I stepped over his limp arm that was strewn across the floor. I ran to the closet and snatched his black backpack and dragged out the large safe from under the shelf and punched in the code, remembering what all of his passwords were, '0512'. Mama's birthday. I grabbed the pistol out of the safe and left the cash and drugs, I had no use for either of those things. Money wasn't what this world's currency was anymore and drugs have never done anything good to anybody.

I tucked the pistol in the back of my pants and hid it with my shirt. I grabbed the few larger knives that had covers over the blades and put them in the bag. I next grabbed the shotgun and made it to fully load it before slinging the strap over my shoulder. I quickly grabbed the couple of extra boxes of shotgun shells and stuffed them in the backpack before I got up and slowly made my way out of the room.

I quietly closed the door behind me and made a deter to my room to put on my boots before I ran down the stairs into the kitchen, where I opened up the mostly bare cabinets and took the last few cans of soup and veggies and several water bottles. I turned my head and peered out the window seeing the sun starting to rise. I put the bag back on and unlocked the door. I took a deep breath and took the pistol out, making sure the little red dot was there, 'Red means Dead" That's what my brother would tell me when he was teaching me to shoot.

I hadn't shot a gun in years, but I was pretty confident that I could still hit something from at least ten feet away. I hoped, anyway. But nonetheless, I didn't want anything to be outside the door and me not be prepared. I took a shaky breath and opened the door. I took a step onto the concrete porch and took a look around.

As far as I could tell there wasn't anything moving besides the branches of the trees slightly blowing in the wind. I bit my lip as I started to walk forward, not knowing where I was going to go. But it honestly didn't matter. I just needed to get away from that place, away from the house that had become my hell for the past couple of years. Away from the two dead men in the bedrooms. I needed to get away from myself. Away from who I was. Nobody could know what had happened. What I'd done. I would take that secret to the grave.

I shouldered the bag and slightly picked up speed, wanting to put as much distance between the house and me. I never wanted to be inside of that house again. I never wanted to lay eyes on that place or anyone associated with it ever again.


	3. The Need to be Alone

I'm not sure how long I had walked for, but it was definitely a good few hours. I'd only seen a handful of those dead things as I ventured through the damp woods, but I purposely did my best to avoid all of them. I really didn't want to have to have another confrontation with anyone or anything right now. I just wanted to be left alone, and as of just then, I was.

I stopped when my feet started getting sore and the heat was making me feel nauseous. I sat down on an old log and wiped the sweat off my forehead with the back of my hand. I looked around, trying to figure out which way I should go as I did my best to breathe evenly. It appeared to be just a bunch of trees and not much else, but when I spotted a house through a few trees I instantly stood up and made my way over.

The first thing that stood out to me was the big red pickup sitting untouched in the driveway. My eyes followed the dirt trail that led its way through the trees. Does that mean that there's a town near? Maybe there are people there. Wait. Maybe there's someone in the house? But do I actually want to find somebody? Honestly, I didn't think I did. But hopefully they had some stuff left in the house, and if God's on my side, which he usually isn't, the truck will work, too.

I ran my fingers over the hood and glanced in through the windshield. It looked pretty empty, but I'll have to further inspect it before deeming it safe. I walked up the concrete steps and peered through the window that was next to the door. The house, also, appeared to be pretty empty, but I wasn't about to go in there unprepared.

I banged on the door with my fist, listening carefully to see if I could hear anything on the other side of the door. I jumped back and almost ran when I heard a loud crash followed by several curses, but as soon as I turned around and got down the steps I was met by a young man that was just barely taller than me. My hands shook violently as I quickly aimed my gun at his head, glaring hard and taking a deep, shaky breath.

I took in his appearance. He was a Korean man that was wearing a short sleeved, light colored plaid shirt over a dusty black t-shirt and a red baseball cap. He had his hands raised with a shocked expression on his face. I couldn't trust him or the other man that was inside of the house.

I slowly backed away until the door came into full view, never letting my aim falter. The man in front of me opened his mouth to say something, but stopped short when I cocked my gun, "Don't move. Don't even fucking open your mouth." I growled. I had no idea who these people were, what they were capable of. They could be murderers, or worse. I couldn't take that chance, I'd just leave. Nobody had to get hurt if I was just able to leave. I wouldn't have to hurt anybody else, kill anybody else.

"Hey, it's okay." A man from the doorway spoke calmly as he raised his hands, "Put down the gun, I'm a cop." He was decently taller than the other man, he was caucasian and had dark hair. He wore a dark blue shirt with gray jeans.

I quickly moved and aimed the gun at him, "There aren't cops anymore." I sneered. I'm sure the complete fear that I was feeling was evident in my face because the man didn't seem fazed in the slightest. My heart beat against my chest as I glanced to the side to see it I could make a run for it, but I decided against that option because I was sure that if they wanted to catch me they certainly would be able to.

"You're right." He said, continuing to keep his voice even, "But that doesn't mean my morals are any different now than they were back when my badge meant something." Not all cops are good, a whole hell of a lot of them didn't have good morals. I had met many as they passed through my daddy's house to buy from him, a cop's word means nothing. Not to me, anyway.

I quickly pointed my weapon back at the Korean man when he took a step toward me, "I said don't move!" There was no way I would let these men hurt me the way that my father had tried to. They wouldn't touch me, I wouldn't let them get close enough to even try.

"Hey, hey!" The former cop yelled out, jumping in front of his apparent friend, "Just put the weapon down and let's talk, okay? Is that okay with you?" I shook my head and didn't say anything, I didn't believe that all he wanted was to talk, "My name's Shane, officer Shane Walsh, what's yours?" The title "officer" meant absolutely nothing. Just because he was a former cop doesn't mean he should be trusted.

"None of your damn business." I said, taking a few steps back, tensing as I bumped into the pickup.

"We're not going to hurt you." He said softly.

I faltered slightly. He looked pretty genuine, but how could I know for sure that he wasn't just a good liar? The other man also looked innocent enough, but how could I trust it?

"Just let me leave then." I said quietly, ever so slightly lowering my gun, but not still keeping my guard up in case they tried to pull anything.

The former officer thought for a long moment. I glanced behind him to see the Korean man standing several feet behind him shifting his feet uncomfortably. My hands shook even more as my eyebrows furrowed. What was I doing? Was I just as bad of a person as my father? These people had done nothing to threaten me, make me feel uncomfortable, so why was I treating them so poorly? Why was I pointing a gun at their heads and threatening their lives?

I bit my lip and lowered the gun. I had to be better than my family, then who I was presenting myself to be. I quietly whimpered as I lowered the gun completely.

His face softened, "If you come back with us we can help you." I touched the bruise on my cheek and looked down at the driveway.

"I don't think that's a good idea." I know for sure that it I go with them I'll just fuck up and end up getting someone hurt, that's what always happens. It's either that or they're with someone who'll hurt me, and neither seemed like very good options to me.

"What's your name?" He asked for a second time.

I didn't feel as scared or worried this time so I answered honestly, "Amaryllis. But uh..." I swallowed hard and tucked my weapon into the waistband of my pants, "You can call me Amaryllis."

"It's nice to meet you, Amaryllis." The other man said, tentatively stepping forward so he was standing next to Shane.

I scoffed lightly, "Yeah, best fucking meeting I've had in a long time. Not at all stressful or terrifying at all." I wiped the sweat off my forehead.

He chuckled softly, "My name's Glenn by the way." He offered a smile, which I found impossible to return as I lowered my eyes back to the ground.

"Is the man that did that still with you?" Shane asked, continuing to keep his distance from me, which I appreciated even more after what he just asked me. Maybe I appeared to be a bad, possibly unstable person, but did I look stupid to this asshole? Did he seriously think that I would stay with someone who would beat the living hell out of me? I suppose I am, though, huh? I didn't run for so many years, no matter how many times I laid in bed plotting how I would run away I couldn't do it. No matter how bad I wanted to leave, I never found the strength in myself to actually do it. So I suppose I was an idiot and his question was reasonable.

"No, he died." After I stabbed him more times than I can say. But I was too afraid to hand out that piece of information, what if they didn't agree? What if they sided with him and they thought even worse of me?

"Good." He replied, rolling his shoulders. He rubbed the back of his neck and sighed, "We can't stay out here in the open, do you want to come back with us? We have a camp not too far from here."

"I can't." I said sternly, "You're better off if it's just me for now." There was a lot of shit I wanted to try and deal with before I stayed with anybody. He was about to say something when my eyes widened and I noticed four decaying bodies walking up behind the two men, "Behind you!" I yelled out.

As soon as they turned around and started killing the undead I turned on my heels and ran. I ran as fast as I could, wanting to put as much space between myself and the living people as I could. I heard a shout behind me, but I didn't stop. Not even when I wondered if they were yelling because one of them got bit. I suppose that just goes to show how terrible of a person I really am.

I wasn't ready to be around people just yet. Besides, the bite mark on my neck wouldn't bode well with anyone that saw it. I needed to get myself healed up and in a better mind set before I even considered staying with people. I needed to be able to be calm enough to not pull out a gun every time I meet someone. I needed to be able to have a level head. I needed to figure out who I was, how to become who I wanted to be.

I needed to be alone.


End file.
